


Hunger

by To_Shiki



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angels Becoming Humans, Demons Becoming Humans, Eating, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, late night cravings, mention of throwing up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 20:04:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19775443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/To_Shiki/pseuds/To_Shiki
Summary: Life after the Apocawasn't better than ever.  They're together without any worry of the other side taking them away.  Yet there is a change happening, slowly but surely.  Aziraphale feels it in his growing need for sleep.  Crowley feels it... well, in the middle of the night to his displeasure.





	Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> Are there other fics I should be working on? Of course. Are there ones that desperately need to be -finished-? Yup! Good Omens has sucked me in despite the troubles of watching it (hurrah for living in China). So have a fic that took little time to type after only watching 3 episodes and seeing too many gifs and reading too many fics.

They thought that after everything, after stopping either side from winning the Apocalypse, they would be free to live their lives in peace. And they were right, to an extent. Neither office stopped in or called for updates. Neither felt those invisible eyes watching their every move.

It was quiet liberating. No wonder there were celebrations for it every July in the US.

Days pass rather uneventfully into months into a year. They still had their lunches and dinners together. They still had their strolls through the park, feeding the ducks, or driving around aimlessly in Crowley’s Bentley. Mornings and nights are spent in each others company within the bookshop, lazy and perfect.

Though now they did it while holding hands. While gazing into each others eyes and neither looking away. Aziraphale sometimes manages to get Crowley to take a bite or two of his meals from his own fork. Crowley sometimes manages to get Aziraphale to close his eyes and sleep a few hours with him in ~~his~~ their bed.

A change is upon them that neither are quiet aware of. Not yet. Still too lost in each other and their unconditionally reciprocated love. Centuries of running into each other, half a decade of watching over a child together - they know what the other emotionally and mentally enjoys. Now. Now they’re too busy learning each others bodies - light touches and feathered kisses and firm hands and breathy moans.

Aziraphale isn’t bothered by the fact that loving and being loved by his demon seems to exhaust him to the point of __needing__ sleep. It’s just seen as another way of making up for over 6,000 years of keeping his distance, of not being able to __be there__.

Crowley absolutely loves it. Revels in it. Every night, after sweaty bodies lay cooling, hearts and breathing slowing down, he gets to wrap long gangly limbs around __his angel,__ close his eyes and smile. He gets to breath in the scent of old paper and ink, of the latest meal his angel (his! angel!) indulged at his insistence. In the morning, the first sight greeting him is his angel’s face, slack in sleep, tiny snores escaping with each inhale.

Crowley isn’t bothered by the fact that loving and being loved by his angel seems to awaken his appetite to the point of __eating food__. It’s just seen as another way of making up for over 6,000 years of keeping his distance, of not being able to __be there.__

Aziraphale absolutely loves it. Revels in it. Every day - morning, noon, and evening - he gets to feed his demon (his! demon!) bits and pieces of his own meals. He gets to watch avidly the thoughts crossing his demon’s face as he rolls the cake or pasta or meat over his tongue, seeming to really __taste__ the flavors for the first time. A bite here or a slurp of noodles there is rapturous music to his ears. 

~*~

It’s three in the morning when Crowley decides that this… change or whatever is happening ****is**** actually bothersome. 

He’s woken from a sound sleep, curled on his side with his angel equally curled up behind him. It’s bothersome to the demon to carefully work at unwinding sleep-heavy arms from around his waist. It’s just as bothersome to pad barefoot and half naked out of the bedroom. Away from his warm, soft angel.

Barely awake, he finds himself standing in front of the fridge in the little kitchen above the bookshop. There’s a stabbing pain in his stomach, a hollowness begging to be filled. The door’s open and he’s grabbing the first thing his hand comes in contact with.

As soon as he takes that first bite, the next follows. And the next after that. 

~*~

It’s four in the morning when Aziraphale decides that this… change or whatever is happening ****is**** actually bothersome.

He’s woken from a sound sleep, arms empty and bed sheets warmed only by his own body heat. It’s bothersome to get up, wrap his robe around him while donning his slippers. It’s just as bothersome to pad out of the bedroom in search of his demon. Away from a warm bed, into the early morning chill of the living area above the bookshop.

A light guides his sleepy mind into their kitchen. Soft sighs and muffled whimpers trickle into every nook of his brain. The strange sounds - strange because he’s not the one causing them - perks him up and forces his feet to move faster.

Fully awake, he finds himself standing at the entrance to the kitchen. Eyes no longer clouded by sleep worriedly taking in the scene before him.

Crowley dressed in nothing more than a pair of low-riding sweats. Crowley sitting on the cold tile floor in front of the open fridge. Crowley shivering and crying silently as he mindlessly grabs items from the fridge and shoves them into his mouth.

“Crowley, my dear. __What__ are you doing?” Aziraphale can’t help the worry tinting his voice, still rough from sleeping.

The demon gives nothing more than another whimper as answer. Too busy chewing his way through a drawer full of raw vegetables.

With a gasp Aziraphale sprints over to his demon. Eyes quickly taking in the half empty fridge, the mess of condiments smeared around Crowley’s mouth, the empty bottles and wrappers surrounding the demon.

They see and finally process the rounded belly his Crowley now sports. 

The distraught angel smacks the next bite, a link of uncooked sausage, out of Crowley’s hand much harsher than intended. He makes quick work of pulling his demon back and flinging the fridge door shut at the same time.

“Oh, my dear, what’s come over you?” Aziraphale holds Crowley in his arms, chest to back, rubbing a large warm hand over the swell of skin.

On his part, it takes Crowley long moments to force the last mouthful of food (thankfully just fruits) down his throat. “I don’t… I-” He’s interrupted by a bubble crawling sickeningly slow up, up, up. “Azira- Hurk- Az-!” For the first time in his existence he’s going to vomit. Not something that he’s looking forward to, to be honest.

A hand’s clamped over his mouth. It gently guides his head back, back, back to rest upon a soft shoulder. The hand on his stomach continues its mission to rub and knead and sooth the poor stomach who demanded too much too soon.

Behind him is a teary eyed Aziraphale. The angel’s tried his hardest to miracle away the food, most of it at least. All he’s managed to do is… nothing. No small or medium miracle, no matter how hard he tries, comes forth.

He’s trapped here, sitting on their kitchen floor, holding his demon as he suffers through this change going on. 

~*~

Crowley hates this. Long bony fingers curl around Aziraphale’s knees tightly. Eyes off the temptation, body stretched out thanks to his angel, he can finally think.

But he can’t __breathe__! His stomach’s so full that there’s no room for lungs to expand. His panicking heart skips a beat at the very thought of requiring air and being unable to get it. Which in turns renews the roiling of food in his stomach. 

__No no no no! Do_ _ **_**_not_ ** _ ** __throw up! Don’t don’t don’t-! That’ll just make things worse!_ _

Squeezing his eyes shut, he does the only thing he can think of. He pushes himself back into his angel’s body and thinks of other temptations. 

Thinks of nothing but his angel. Not the wretched sensation of stretched out skin around his stomach. But of the glorious burn as his angel had stretched him out. Doesn’t think about the churning in his stomach from mix-mashed food and condiments. Thinks of nothing but the pleasant bubbly feeling throughout his body as his angel moaned into his ear with each thrust. 

Each highly welcome memory pulls him further away from the troubles of now and into the past. Gone were the worries of throwing up, of making a fool of himself in front of his angel (not that Aziraphale hadn’t seen him do that multiple times over their long friendship). Here were the warmth of Aziraphale’s arms, of his calming heartbeat against his back, of his hand rubbing against his gradually shrinking swell. 

~*~

Aziraphale hates this. It’s happened to him several times in the past. Mostly in the beginning when he first started eating. Knowing that throwing up won’t help, will actually make things __worse__ , he does what he can.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he does the only thing he can think of. He pours his love for his demon into him. The joy of having him beside him for all eternity now (or so he thinks). The thrill of his demon introducing him to something new. The blindingly satisfying feeling of his demon welcoming him in, squeezing him so tightly like he never wants to let him go.

Every little piece of love and happiness and domestic bliss is gently directed at Crowley. He happily, not really __happily__ , sits there on their cold kitchen floor with his demon cradled in his lap. Waits for the harsh high breathing to gradually slow back down to a normal pace. Every few breaths he tries to miracle away a teeny tiny portion of food. All for nothing.

They pass the time in silence. The kind of silence usually reserved for too early mornings. Just the two of them breathing in unison.

It’s not until dawn’s light creeps in through the windows that Crowley’s able to release Aziraphale’s knees from his tight grip. Enough time has finally passed: his stomach, his very normal __human__ stomach, has digested half of its contents. Which has allowed him to breathe easier.

With a grunt, he pushes Aziraphale’s hand away from his mouth. Not from his stomach, to his angel’s amazement. The warm firm pressure is not only soothing, it’s keeping him pleasantly grounded. And putting him back to sleep now that the emptiness has been filled.

As he feels Crowley slowly relax against him, Aziraphale can’t help the tiny smile. Feeling it safe, he shifts his demon until he’s got him under the knees and back. A little maneuvering later and they’re on their way back to the bedroom.

Carefully he sets Crowley down first. Then prevents him from lying down.

“Annngel!” Now that he’s feeling just slightly better, he wants to sleep!

“Hush, my dear. Just a moment.” True to his word, Aziraphale arranges himself behind Crowley then tugs him back against him. Just like how they were in the kitchen. Only this time they have mounds of pillows (to support Aziraphale’s back) and piles of blankets (to keep Crowley warm).

Now, Aziraphale keeps his demon reclined and safe within his arms so that they both may doze off for an hour or two. Now, Crowley’s able to relax against his angel and recover a bit before actually greeting the new day. 

~*~

At Aziraphale’s insistence, Crowley winds up greeting the day back in the kitchen. Closer to noon than either would like, but that’s how long it took for Crowley to feel well enough to try again.

This time he’s fully clothed and seated at the table. Before him lays a quick breakfast of toast, fried eggs, sausage links, and fried tomatoes. The sight alone makes his stomach roller coaster from **_**_avoid_**_** to **_**_devour_**_** over and over.

He’s clenching the silverware in his hands so tightly that it hurts.

Gently, oh so lovingly, his angel lays a hand over his. “Start with the toast,” he suggests quietly.

With a little help from his angel, he lets go of death-grip on the fork. A triangled piece of toast is hesitantly brought up to his lips. A tiny nibble and forceful swallow.

Pause.

“That’s it, love. Eat slowly like you’ve watched me do countless times.”

Taking a deep bracing breath, he goes in for another bite. Pause. Then another. Pause. Another and another at Aziraphale’s thrilled encouragement. Once the toast is finished he starts reaching for his fork.

Pause.

Instantly Aziraphale’s closer to his side. Worry is etched across his face as he asks, “What is it? Is it settling alright?” He’s got a hand spread wide over Crowley’s stomach before he’s finished speaking.

Covering the hand, Crowley can’t help the chuckle. “Tickety-boo, angel. Jus’ doing it like you: nice and slow.” He holds Aziraphale’s hand over his stomach, palming his little rolls together while the toast settles.

The spend the rest of the meal, and each meal after that at home just like that. One hand each on a slowly expanding stomach. One hand each slowly feeding the other until everything is gone.

If either miss the warmth of resting against Crowley’s stomach while dining out they say nothing. It’s replaced with a hand resting on a thigh under the table. It’s replaced with a hand resting onto of another, as a reminder to take it slow.

They have eternity now.

Or so they believe.


End file.
